Surely they don’t expect me to moo-ve all this firewood?
Your lips are as sweet as honey.
– That’s because I’ve been cooking dinner and tasting it to make sure it’s to your liking.
Your hands are soft and fragrant.
– That’s because I’ve been doing the laundry in the tub because your washing machine is broken.
Your hair is wild and natural and lovely.
– That’s because I’ve been up the hill out the back in the wind collecting firewood to warm the house.
Your body is lithe and perfect, like a model in an advertising centrefold of popular magazines.
– That’s because I spend hours digging your vegetable garden and mowing your lawns.
Your walk is as graceful as a gazelle.
– That’s because I walk your dog every day.
Your taste in clothes is impeccable.
– That’s because I buy the occasional thing with money earned from working a forty hour week.
You are the perfect woman. Marry me.
– I’m outta here.
There was no doubt it was an early frost. Mary Jane was quite unprepared. She’d cleaned the chimney over summer, but as for firewood… Not a twig.
Putting on her thick Finland sweater she had knitted, she ventured into the nearby frosty forest to collect enough wood to start the fire and at least clear the nip in the air. By the time the fire was going the sun had begun to warm the room.
That afternoon, Mary Jane went out and gathered enough firewood to last a week. She would collect more in the coming days.
The next morning it was even frostier. And the following morning, frostier still. Then the snow began. Cold, cold, cold. Mary Jane had the fire going all day.
The days grew shorter and colder. Mary Jane stoked the fire. The fire did not warm. And colder and colder grew the days. It was now so cold in the house that Mary Jane could hardly move. The damp had settled on the walls and frozen into icicles. There was no end to it.
Mary Jane set fire to the house.